


Good Sport

by LadyJaguar



Category: Holby City
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gay Couple, Grandparents & Grandchildren, Happy Family, Holby City AU, M/M, One Shot, School, Sports Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-09 11:34:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19886971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyJaguar/pseuds/LadyJaguar
Summary: Written after being given a writing prompt, "If you want, we can go together," with Johnrik.It's Oskar's first Sports Day, and he wants Henrik and John to be there. All the other parents and grandparents will be bringing picnics and making an afternoon of it, so Henrik and John don't want Oskar to miss out.Then Jac Naylor arrives, and opens his eyes to the true meaning of Sports Day (basically, Win At All Cost!)Set in an alternative universe where Henrik and John are a couple but haven't yet said so publicly, and Oskar and Gemma go to the same private school.Daft, fuzzy fluff.





	Good Sport

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lonelier_version_of_you](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelier_version_of_you/gifts).



HE HAD PROMISED Oskar he would be there to cheer him on in the egg and spoon race. They had practiced at the weekend, Henrik explaining the physics of keeping the egg in the centre of the spoon versus the speed of motion. Oskar had listened seriously, then asked a question Henrik had no idea how to answer.

“Why don’t I have a grandma?” 

“I HAD NO idea what to say,” Henrik confessed later to John, when Oskar was fast asleep in bed. “He started telling me about his friends bringing their grandparents and parents along with picnic baskets and making a day of it. This is whole new territory for me. It’s rather terrifying.”

John grimaced in agreement. “Sitting with a load of yummy mummies sipping Prosecco and talking at high volume about little Hugo’s SAT’s results IS terrifying, but you have to do it. There’s no getting out of it.” He poured more Pinot into Henrik’s glass. “If you want, we can go together. We can even take a picnic, though not Prosecco. Make it champagne, at least.”

Henrik chewed his lip and looked anxious. “We could, but I don’t think Oskar is ready for in-depth discussions about heteronormative stereotypes and why we don’t conform to them.”

“Put like that, I might agree, but he already knows we're a couple, even though we don't live together all the time. He’s seen me going out of your bedroom. He’s seen you kiss me. Not in public, I admit but at home. He already knows its normal.”

Henrik sighed, seeing the pitfalls ahead. “It’s fine if he knows, but what about when everyone else knows? He could be bullied…”

“We’ll help him to be strong. You can’t protect him forever.”

Henrik knew John was right, and he wanted to have him by his side but until then, they hadn’t acknowledged publicly they were a couple. Private was private, even at Holby General. 

“I HOPE I'LL be seeing you tomorrow, Henrik,” Jac said as they walked from Darwin to the elevator after their shifts.

“Why wouldn’t you be? I’m in all day.”

“Aren’t you going to Sports Day in the afternoon? Oskar and Emma have been talking about it all week at school. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”

“Er … no. I thought the Middle School had theirs in the morning.”

“Not this year. The format has changed. This is the first sports day I’ve ever been able to make.”

“Ah.” Henrik was dismayed at the thought of Jac being there. “Well, let’s hope nothing comes up in the meantime.”

“Oh, it won’t. I’ve told my team not even nuclear war would keep me away from seeing Emma thrash Helena Thompson-Smythe in the three-legged race. Remember to pack your picnic. And your running shoes."

He felt a stab of alarm. "Why?"

"The Father's Race. It's obligatory for male family members, including uncles and grandfathers. Don't look so worried, Henrik. It's a bit of fun, that's all. Something for Oskar to remember when he's older."

"Er...."

"It's the taking part that's important," she said sternly, and jogged off down the stairs before he could respond.

In the car, he rang John. “Maybe it’s best you don’t come with me tomorrow. Jac Naylor will be there.”

“It's too late. Oskar and I have been making energy bars for him to take to lunch tomorrow. It’s a Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall recipe.”

Henrik could hear John clattering round the kitchen, and Oskar chattering in the background. “Well, if you’re sure…”

“I’m hardly going to snog you in front of the school, am I? Although I might, just to see those Botoxed babes trying to move their eyebrows in shock and horror.”

“John …”

“Henrik, relax. The afternoon is about Oskar, not about us. We’re there to support him and that’s all that matters.”

ST. BRIDE'S PREPARATORY School was set in gorgeous parkland on the site of an old manor house. Now they were in the graceful surroundings, Henrik didn't feel quite as self-conscious in the navy chinos and cream linen shirt he had chosen for the event, adding his old school tie for good measure. John was resplendent in a blue blazer with brass buttons, cream chinos, a red and white striped cotton shirt and boater hat.

"Too much?" He had asked, seeing Henrik's expression when he walked out of the bedroom. "I didn't want to let the side down, though I don't have an old school tie, I'm afraid."

Henrik kept his thoughts about Bertie Wooster to himself. Instead he smiled. John did look rather dashing, after all. "Perfect!"

Bunting had been strung the length of the driveway and a sturdy woman in a high-vis jacket directed them to the makeshift car park. Already, there were two rows of glossy Range Rovers and Jaguar 4x4s, bearing testament to the clientele of the school. Henrik parked his Volvo next to an Audi Q7 and winced when John opened his door a little too fast, hitting the side of the Audi with an expensive-sounding _bonk._

"Sorry," he said, not sounding it. He looked around him. "Wow, Henrik, you don't do things by halves, do you?"

"The school had an Outstanding Ofsted report," Henrik replied, somewhat defensively. "Nothing wrong with giving the boy a good education."

"And a sense of entitlement, but whatever. Maybe I should have worn my ripped jeans and Never Mind The Bollocks tee-shirt." John eyed their surroundings disparagingly.

"You mean, the one I hid so Oskar doesn't find it?"

"Where did you hide it?"

"In the recycling bin." Henrik opened the back of the Volvo and begun pulling out the picnic hamper. "What on earth is in this thing? Food to feed the five thousand?"

"It's going to be a long afternoon and it's hot. Everything we need is in here. Come on. Grab your end."

As Henrik lifted the handle of the hamper, another car pulled in front of them, making them stop abruptly. Jac wound down the window. 

"Is this Sports Day or the Brideshead Revisited re-enactment convention?"

"Ms. Naylor, good to see you!" John held the boater on his head so it wouldn't blow away. "Sit with us if you like. I've made cheese straws."

Henrik shot him an alarmed look. Jac grinned. 

"My favourite. How can I resist?"

She climbed out of the car, almost unrecognisable in a floaty cream and green flowered sundress and wide-brimmed hat. She grabbed a cool box and a rolled up blanket from the back seat of her car, then handed them to Henrik. In a daze, he took them. She marched off ahead of them, leading the way like the Queen of Sheba. 

"What did you do that for?" Henrik hissed at John. He could see his soft-focus vision of feeding John strawberries under the privacy of their golfing umbrella fading into nothing.

"You've said before I need to make more an effort to be nice, so I'm being nice," John murmured.

The three of them trudged over the field to where the children had gathered. The parents sat on a slight hill, enabling them to see their offspring in the various races.

The children had been sorted into four different Houses with names of different explorers, Cook, Scott, Columbus and Darwin. It was universally accepted that Scott won everything, as they had the brightest, most sporty students in the school. Cook were the arty, creative ones, Darwin the geeks and nerds, and the rest who didn't conform into useful boxes were put into Columbus. Oskar had been put into Columbus, much to Henrik's disgust, although he hadn't said anything as the Headmistress was terrifying. Emma, somewhat gallingly, was in Darwin. 

Henrik opened up the hamper and took out their picnic rug, spreading it on the grass as John opened out his enormous rainbow-coloured golfing umbrella, emblazoned with the legend "London Pride 2018." Henrik sighed inwardly, wishing he had bought the black one and knowing for absolute certain John had done it on purpose. 

"Black absorbs heat," John said, seeing his look. 

"Yes, thank you for that science lesson, Professor Gaskell," Henrik replied acidly. He was aware of the looks they were getting from some of the clusters of mothers, already quaffing their Prosecco and passing judgement on anyone that passed. A couple of the women smiled at him and he relaxed slightly. 

"Well, this is going to be fun," Jac said, spreading out her blanket next to Henrik and John's. She shielded her eyes with her hand and looked out over the crowd, then waved frantically. On the other side of the track, Emma jumped up and down, waving madly back at her and yelling. The teacher told her sharply to sit back down.

Henrik looked for Oskar. He would be at the other end, with the tiny children. Yes, there he was, little blond head protected by a green Columbus House baseball cap. Henrik waved to get his attention, and received a shy smile in return. Then John stood up and waved as well, and Oskar beamed, waving with both hands.

John set out a small picnic table and began laying out the food he had prepared earlier. Soon there was a veritable feast on the rug, even outdoing the group of yummies with their Fortnum's hamper a few feet away. 

"Champagne? It's Laurent Perrier," he said, easing the cork from the bottle. 

"Don't mind if I do." Jac held out a cut crystal flute for him to pour into. She looked grudgingly impressed.

John raised his glass to her, then to Henrik. "Bottoms up." 

Jac caught Henrik's eye and winked at him. He nodded, confirming what she already knew. In a way, it was a comfort to know she understood. They didn't see eye to eye on a lot of work issues, but it was good to know she had their backs in their personal life.

The three of them sat on the rugs and basked in the sun, Jac slathering herself in Factor 50 sun cream. She gave some to Henrik so his nose didn't burn, then lay back with her hat over her face. 

"Tell me when the races start," she mumbled. 

They had quarter of an hour to wait before it started, so Henrik also settled down for a doze. After a moment, John did the same, resting the back of his head on Henrik's stomach and sighing contentedly.

"All we need is a riverbank and dreaming spires," Jac said from under the hat. For once, Henrik was inclined to agree with her.

THE RACES BEGAN in due course, and it seemed there was an awful lot of them to Henrik, but he was impressed by how slickly the event was organised. When it was Oskar's turn, the little boy lined up with everyone else, knock-kneed and nervous. He looked over at Henrik and he smiled encouragingly. It didn't matter if he didn't win, he had told him. Just enjoy yourself and remember to keep the spoon straight.

John stood up with him as the whistle blew. Oskar held the spoon, frowning intently, but every few steps, the egg rolled off. Soon he was last in the race.

When it happened for the fourth time, he looked up in despair. John gave him a double thumbs up, and at that point, Oskar picked up the egg, held it in one hand and the spoon in the other, and legged it to the finish line, coming in third.

Henrik looked pained, but John laughed.

"I might have told him to do that," he confessed, grinning at Henrik's look of disapproval. "It's the taking part that matters, right?"

Oskar didn't win any other other other races he was in, but he looked as if he was enjoying himself. Henrik saw him chatting with his little friends, looking settled and happy, which was a relief after the trauma of his first few days at the school earlier in the summer.

They had eaten some of the picnic food by the time Emma's turn came. Jac leapt up to watch. Emma was in the three-legged race with a boy her height and weight, and they were giggling and joshing each other. Next to them was Emma's nemesis, the blonde pig-tailed Helena Thompson-Smythe together with her best friend. They looked supremely confident.

"Come on, Emma. Stop mucking about," Jac muttered. 

The children settled, and the whistle blew. 

At once, Emma's expression changed, becoming grimly determined. The two girls moved as if they had been practising for weeks, fluidly pounding down the track, hot on the heels of the sporty, long-legged Helena. 

"COME ON, YOU TWO, MOVE YOUR ARSES. THIS ISN'T A WALKING RACE. REMEMBER YOUR TRAINING. COME ON!!!!" Jac's voice rang out over the crowd. As Gemma moved next to Helena, Henrik saw her elbow the girl in the ribs. 

It was enough to destroy their balance. Helena and friend crashed forward on the grass and two other pairs cannoned into them in a tangle of arms and legs. Emma and her partner smoothly carried on, way ahead of the competition to come first. 

"YES!" Jac screeched, jumping up and down and pumping the air. "Hah! That's my girl!" She turned to Henrik and John, grinning triumphantly. 

"She definitely takes after you, Ms. Naylor," Henrik commented, silently vowing never to have the little beast over for a play date. 

THE AFTERNOON PASSED pleasantly, Henrik lulled by several glasses of champagne as John had offered to drive back. Then he was rudely sobered up by a message over the tannoy.

"And now the last race of the day. The Father's Race is open to all fathers, friends, uncles, grandfathers. Come to the track now."

The children had finally been allowed to go and see their families, so Oskar immediately ran to Henrik and started tugging on his sleeve. 

"Please Farfar. You race too." 

"Oh, John will do it. I've had too much champagne." He looked around. John had conveniently disappeared. 

Oskar's face fell. He looked as if he was about to start crying. Henrik couldn't bear that so he made a placating gesture. 

"All right, but I won't win you know. I'll be terrible."

"It's the taking part that counts," Oskar said brightly. "That's what you told me, Farfar."

"Er, so I did." Henrik could hardly argue with that. "All right. Come on then." They walked down to the track. On the way, they passed Jac, who had Emma attached firmly to her waist, clutching the House Cup. 

"It's the first time Darwin have won it for ten years. "Good luck in the race. You'll need it."

Oskar dragged him away before he could ask what she meant, but as soon as he saw the line-up, he knew she had stitched him up. 

"Oh God," he said out loud. 

Most of the men were in lycra and expensive trainers. One man looked like an Olympic athlete. His shoes had running spikes on the bottom. He was limbering up, stretching his hamstrings, doing lunges. Henrik knew his own black brogues just wouldn't past muster when it counted.

"Maybe this isn't such a good idea," he murmured, but Oskar looked up at him with his wide blue eyes. 

"Don't worry, Farfar. Uncle John will look after you."

It was then Henrik saw him, dressed in immaculate but dinky white shorts and Nikes, sizing up the competition. He looked aghast at him.

"What in God's name are you wearing?"

"Relax. I belong to the Emma Naylor school of winning races, and that prat is in my sights." John nodded to Running Spike Man. "You do you, and I do me. We'll be fine, Henrik. We've got this." He gave him a winning grin and went to take his place next to the athlete. 

"Humiliation guaranteed," Henrik muttered to himself. He stood on the other side and they prepared to run. 

The whistle blew, and the men took off, legs pounding, arms pumping, all friendliness swept away by the need to show who was best. Henrik found that his long legs were useful in covering the track. He wasn't the fastest, but he wasn't going to be last either. He was happy with a respectable tenth place. 

Up ahead of him, carnage had taken place. Someone had tripped and fallen, causing Running Spike Man to trample over them then fall on his face. He went down with a bellow and rolled around, clutching his hamstring. Two more men had been taken out by his fall and were groaning on the floor. John sped to the tape a hairs breadth in front of a man twenty years his junior. 

Oskar was ecstatic, hugging Henrik and cheering. 

The Headmistress looked annoyed, hands on her hips as the men on the floor limped off the track. Running Spike Man had to be tended to by the First Aid Officer. 

"Honestly! That's the last time we're doing that," she said, stomping off the track. "You men are worse than the children!"

Even so, she presented John with a bottle of Talisker Scotch and told him he was the last ever winner of the Father's Race. He held up the bottle and basked in the cheers and laughs of the crowd. 

"Looks like we're not so different after all," Jac said. "I still don't like you though," she added as Emma led her away. 

"You loved my cheese straws though," John called after her, and received a rude gesture in return. 

Henrik sadly shook his head, but couldn't help smiling at John. "I'm not going to ask what you did."

"Best not to."

Henrik looked at Oskar, who was laughing delightedly. The little boy reached up his arms for a hug, and when Henrik picked him up, he wrapped his free arm around John's neck, pulling them all close together. 

"Kiss," he said.

Both Henrik and John hesitated for a moment, both unsure how the other was feeling.

"If you insist," Henrik said first, leaning in to kiss John's lips. Oskar hugged them both tight. 

"My family," he said happily.


End file.
